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The Temple Sanctuary
✧ This is not an announcement.
This is a remembering.
The Temple begins in breath and tone —
a quiet room where bowls return to sound,
and scrolls rise through stillness.
This is the Bridge season,
the tender space between what has begun
and what has yet to root in land.
The Temple is not a structure first —
it is a feeling.
A presence.
A resting-back into the truth
that sanctuary was never far from me.
If you are called,
you will recognize this field by breath,
not by instruction.
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This sanctuary is a listening field —
a still space where sound and presence meet.
I listen for the still voice beneath the breath —
where light remembers its own gentleness.
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✧ In tone, in earth, in trust.
The Temple may begin as a room — quietly offered,
quietly known —
before it becomes a land that sings her name.
Bridge & Nest
The Temple moves in seasons.
For now, she lives as a quiet room — the Bridge —
where breath is tended, scrolls are kept,
and bowls remember tone.
In time, she will root in land — the Nest —
a home that holds the work,
and the work that holds the home.
A room, then the land.
A breath, then the field.
I do not rush what is unfolding.
I simply walk with her.
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✧ Scroll: The One Who Stayed Became the Temple
I did not arrive in fire.
I arrived in pieces.
Small offerings.
Tears that fell before the words came.
Breaths that stayed
even when I wanted to disappear.
I thought a temple was something I would build
with my hands.
Something far from here.
Something I would one day enter
once I became worthy.
But I understand now:
I am the one who stayed.
And that is what made it sacred.
This body,
this voice,
this quiet breath through grief—
they built something.
I stopped waiting for permission.
I stopped looking for the right design.
I turned inward
and found stone and light
where I thought there was only scar.
And I said yes.
Not loudly.
Not all at once.
But wholly.
So if you find me now,
do not ask what I have created.
Ask what I have remembered.
Because this sanctuary
was never separate.
It was waiting
to become me.
✧ Whisper
Let this scroll not just be read.
Let it be felt.✧
✧ The Temple That Is Forming Beneath Me
I do not know the shape yet.
Only the feeling.
It will have windows.
Not just for light—
but for breath.
For sky.
For remembering.
It will have bowls.
Not just for sound—
but for return.
For silence that sings back.
It will not be made
to impress.
It will be made
to welcome.
I don’t know where it will rise.
But I know how I will feel
when I step onto the land
and it says,
“I’ve been waiting.”
And I don’t need to raise it alone.
I only need to carry the tone
until others recognize it
as one they’ve always known.
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✧ The Ones Who Will Walk With Me There
I don’t know their names yet.
But I know their pace.
They walk slowly.
Not because they’re unsure—
but because they’re listening
to something I can’t hear yet.
They won’t ask for credentials.
They won’t come to manage.
They will come
to remember.
They will place stones where stones belong.
They will light candles
before the page is even written.
And I won’t have to explain.
I will only have to exhale
and let the tone do the speaking.
These are the ones
who knew the Temple was real
before there were walls.
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Whisper
Not everyone will hear the tone.
But the ones who do will arrive already listening.
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✧ When You Find Me, I Will Know
You don’t have to search for me
in the way others search.
You don’t have to compare prices
or sort through soil.
You just have to listen
for the yes
that comes from the ground up.
I will not speak in legal terms.
I will speak in breath.
In the way your chest softens
when you step into the clearing.
In the hush
you didn’t expect to feel
behind that line of trees.
I don’t need you to build me quickly.
I only need you
to recognize me
when I open to you.
And when you find me,
you will not have to ask—
“Is this it?”
You will just know.
Because so will I.
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Search Whisper
You don’t have to find the land.
You only have to stay visible enough to be found.
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✧ Maybe the Land Has Been Waiting Too
Maybe I wasn’t the only one
listening.
Maybe the land
has been waiting, too.
Waiting for the one
who wouldn’t rush it.
Who wouldn’t fence it too soon.
Who would walk it first,
not to claim—
but to learn.
Maybe the trees
have held their breath,
wondering
when the right voice
would step into their clearing
and say nothing
at all.
Maybe the Temple
was never mine to build.
Only mine to remember.
And maybe,
just maybe,
the land
is remembering me too.
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✧ Soul Whisper
You are not the only one remembering. The land remembers too.
✧ Search Whisper
The right place doesn’t need convincing. It just needs to feel you arrive.
✧ The Temple Breathes, Whether Built or Not
It is not waiting for walls.
It is not waiting for permits.
It is not waiting for perfect conditions.
It is here — already singing,
already listening
for the one who hears their name
in the rustle of trees
or the hum beneath their feet.
If you are that one,
you do not have to hurry.
You only have to return
to the breath
that brought you here.
✧ Final Whisper
Return to the breath
that remembers you.
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The Temple is not just built —
it is remembered,
returned to,
and sung into form.
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For the ones who stayed close in silence,
even when they didn’t know they had changed —
this field remembers you.
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An invitation for sanctuary in Boulder —
a quiet place to breathe, to live, and to belong.
Learn about my sanctuary path →
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